


trouble me

by firetan



Category: Nurarihyon no Mago | Nura: Rise of the Yokai Clan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drabble, Multi, Other Characters TBA - Freeform, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9631556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firetan/pseuds/firetan
Summary: the one where you can transfer any injuries/pain your soulmate has onto yourself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Edit: This fic is going to be marked complete. I may add more installments later, but for now I just don't have the energy/inspiration to continue it.**

The first time he coughs blood during a Kiyojūji Paranormal Patrol meeting, Kana immediately  _panics_ and frets over him while Kiyotsugu loudly exclaims that _he must have been attacked by a yōkai_ , and Rikuo has to wrestle down the urge to laugh in his face.

“No, it’s nothing like that. My asshole soulmate just doesn’t know when to take it easy, that’s all.”

That certainly makes them pause in their exclamations and contemplations, the stunned silence lasting long enough for him to wipe his mouth on the dark brown handkerchief he’s carried in his pocket ever since he started school and drink from his water bottle until the taste of blood is washed away. Saori and Natsumi whisper rapidly to each other, while Jirō stares at him like he’s somehow sprouted a second head. (He’s not sure whether they’re surprised about _what_ he said, or the fact that he _swore_ while saying it).

It’s Kana, though, who responds first. “You have a soulmate? Do you know who she is?”

 _There it is_ , just like always. Rikuo winces and laughs it off, waving a hand in the air. “Ahh, it doesn’t matter, really. So, what were we doing today?”  
  
“Well, you _see—_ ” And Kiyotsugu’s off, taking charge of the situation once more and distracting everybody very efficiently from Rikuo’s little issue (though he still catches Kana glancing over at him with a thoughtful, concerned look when she thinks he won’t notice).

* * *

His mother worries, of course, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell her not to. She’s already lost  _two_ soulmates, after all — one of the bond, and one of the heart — and it’s not his place to try and stop her from being concerned. After all, she still has a small urn in her room with her best friend’s ashes in it, and he remembers her gentle voice from when he was young as she told him that her soulmate had died after taking a fatal injury for her. They had been platonic soulmates, she had told him, the _very best_ of friends, but it hadn’t hurt any less to realize the car accident that should have killed her instead took away her most important person.

So it’s natural that she worries whenever he finds blood bubbling in his throat and a cough trapped there like an itch. Rikuo lets her steep tea and wipe the blood off of his chin gently, because if it’ll make her feel a little better then it’s worth it.

He’s not worried, though. Because of the yōkai Fear in his veins, he knows he’ll still live longer than a normal human, and he’s sure he’ll have more than enough time to do what he wants and needs to do. And because of this bond, his soulmate will be able to share that much more time with him, so he’s never regretted it even when he wakes up with his lungs on fire and blood on his lips.

If it means Zen will be able to live alongside him for that much more of his life, then Rikuo’s willing to endure it for as long as he can.

* * *

Worry does creep in while he’s in Tōno, training. His heritage means that he heals faster than a normal human and most yōkai, but bruises and scrapes from sparring disappearing within hours is not something even _his_ body can do. He glances down to catch sight of one vanishing from his shin while working with Itaku, and swears decoratively. “That _asshole_! Agh, when I get back I’m gonna—”

“What are you talking about, Rikuo?”

He groans and rolls his eyes, pointing at a scratch on his cheek that is fading even as he speaks. “My _absolute dumbass_ of a soulmate, who’s taking these despite having the shittiest health in all of Honshū because he’s always been an obnoxiously protective bastard.”

“Hn.” Itaku makes a face and — to Rikuo’s surprise — nods understandingly. “I have experienced the same. But then again, with our kind it is…” He purses his lips, as though considering what to say, “— _reasonable_ , I suppose, for one to take on some of the burden while the other is fighting. I have done so for mine on occasion, though it is rather inconvenient that they experience so many hand injuries.” He eyes Rikuo, considering. “I would hope yours does not do the same.”

Having been expecting a very different reaction — disgust, at least, if not outright _dismissal_ — Rikuo could only gape and nod. “I— well, coughing blood, but that’s about it. He’s a doctor, not— er, not like this.” He flails one hand out at the training ground.

“Good.” Itaku seems to take this as a cue that he’s ready to continue sparring, and launches himself across the gap between them with sickles out and flashing. Rikuo yelps in surprise and throws himself back into the fight, silently swearing to metaphorically rip his stupid, idiot soulmate a new one when he returns.

* * *

“I had thought that if you could achieve this with anyone, it would be your soulmate.” Rikuo resists the urge to wince at Gyūki’s entirely neutral words, because the fact that Zen’s his soulmate is probably one of the Nura Clan’s worst-kept secrets but he still expects to hear disparaging murmurs and mocking laughter, “I am pleased to see I was correct.”

“ _They’re_ soulmates?”

And there it is. Even still feeling the pure energy that had coursed through his veins when they had merged together in Matoi, Rikuo flinches at the clear disdain in the Kurama Daitengu’s voice. Zen is further down the slope, already administering antidotes and treatment to the yōkai that attacked them, and RIkuo’s glad he’s far enough away to not hear this again.

Before anything more can be said, however, Gyūki steps in and reminds Rikuo just why he was so adamant that the older yōkai remain on the board even after his attempts to kill him. “That is irrelevant. We have achieved what I promised we would, and need this mountain no longer. We will leave you to your home.”

The Daitengu stiffens but holds his tongue, instead looking around to observe what has become of his troupes. “Gyūki, just _what_ did you teach him?”

“Nothing you need to know. Just that his sword will now reach its goal.”

From down the slope, Zen calls to ask if they’re quite done yet, and Rikuo honestly doesn’t care if the Kyōto yōkai sees the smile it brings to his face. Zen’s here with him, safe, Gyūki’s on his side and has taught him what he needs to know for the coming battles, and that’s more than enough reason to let his lips stretch wide until his cheeks ache.

* * *

He most definitely isn’t smiling when the pain in his hand and side vanishes as soon as he’s let go of Hagoromo-Gitsune’s sword, before any blood can even drip onto the wooden beams beneath them, and he turns carelessly from the battle to yell furiously at the collection of yōkai below.

“Zen, don’t you fucking _dare_ take on my injuries! We _need_ you, damn it!”

Ignoring the surprise of those around them — allies, enemies, and onmyōji alike — the mint-haired yōkai rolls his eyes and deftly bandages his now-bleeding hand as he makes his way to a nearby roof. “Not like you’re all that disposable yourself, idiot! I’m hardly going to let you up and _die_ somewhere like this!”

“Well, you— _fuck_!” Rikuo has to break off to defend himself again, because Hagoromo Gitsune clearly doesn’t care about important and valuable soulmate conversations. “—you don’t get to up and die _either_ , you hear me?”

He’s not imagining the sorely concealed worry in his friend’s eyes, but Zen grins brightly and waves a lazy hand in acknowledgement before returning to his own concerns. Rikuo feels the ache where his back hit a support beam earlier fade away and scowls, launching himself back into the fight.

_Really, it’s always like this._

* * *

When the Kusozu begins to set in, Rikuo can’t stop himself from _screaming_. The pain is horrible, it burns and crawls and makes his skin feel slick and disgusting like he’s covered in oil (but it’s his own blood and rot, of course), and he hopes desperately that it will _stay_ just like that until he can destroy the sick bastard who’s causing all of this. If the pain starts to fade, he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself from abandoning the battle to run for the main house and knock sense into his stupid, stupid soulmate.

But it doesn’t, even as he feels himself begin to rot (and _god_ , isn’t that terrifying, feeling yourself  _fall apart_ like loose earth), and as he leaps to the top of the building where Kyosai has made his refuge he is morbidly relieved. No matter what, he would never want Zen to endure even a fraction of this.

He only stays behind after the artist has fallen for a few minutes, taking time to reassure Saori and Natsumi (the two soulmates are clinging to each other, tears on both of their cheeks but the rest of them _mercifully_ uninjured) before departing once again towards the next challenge.

Before he goes, however, he tells the nearest Nura Clan member to head back to the main house and warn Zen that if he even _dares_ to transfer Rikuo’s injuries, he’ll be asking for some more pain of his own. Who knows if he’ll listen, but at least it’s an attempt.

Rikuo will heal, after all; his grandmother’s blood is still strong, already starting to put him back together at the deepest levels of the destruction. Zen doesn’t need to take on this burden for him.

* * *

It’s while his friends are at the main house, sitting in the front room and marveling at what had been hidden from them, that he sees Kana _realize_. Zen’s sitting beside him, changing the bandages on the injuries that are taking longer to heal and disguising his concern in irate grumbling. A few innocuous scrapes and scratches pass from one to the other, and when the coughing starts Zen makes sure to wave off the silent offer, patiently letting the fit settle itself and wiping his lips carelessly on his sleeve before finishing with the checkup and tugging Rikuo sideways so they’re leaning against each other.

Kana’s the only one watching, as Kiyotsugu and Jirō are distracted by Kejōrō and Kubinashi, and he can see the moment it _clicks_ in her head. The way her eyes dart between the two of them, putting two and two and two together. She leans forward and he tenses, because he has no idea how she’ll react to two men being soulmates (it’s ironic — humans will have issues with their  _gender_ , yōkai will have issues with their _blood_ , they just can’t catch a break).

“So this is the asshole who doesn’t know when to take it easy, then?”

Beside him, Zen _chokes_ , and Rikuo finds himself bursting into startled laughter. Under the sound of his soulmate’s spluttered protests, he meets his friend’s eyes and manages to return to warm smile she sends him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have worried, after all.


	2. Second Installment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Kubinashi's chapter_

As a human, Kubinashi hadn't had a soulmate, at least not one that ever bothered taking his injuries or giving him theirs. He'd entertained the thought that perhaps his soulmate was someone like Madam Shiragiku, who couldn't allow herself to be injured or take on any injuries because of her profession, but it certainly wasn't her and he didn't have much care for any others. Sometimes he would spend idle afternoons looking at his hands, wondering if there would ever be a day when he'd see the cuts and scrapes and bruises there vanish away to nothingness. 

But they never did, not even when he was caught and killed in Yanagi Pass, his head rolling away until he stood back up and reclaimed it.

It took him almost fifty years to notice that the cuts his Fear-enhanced string left in the palms of his hands were fading before he could treat them, and by then he was established under Rihan's leadership. No point going out to look for someone who hadn't bothered being there for him when he actually needed them. (Kino tried to remind him that they could very well be a human who had just been born, but he didn't particularly want to listen. It was a still a bit of a sore spot for him, even after a good seventy years of life).

He saw Rihan lose his soulmate, and reluctantly began tugging wounds over from his own because seeing his leader's grief reminded him that his soulmate may not have _been there_ for him, but they were still _his_ and he should value them while they were around. He mostly received paper-thin cuts that could have come from the wind itself and bruises along his arms and legs, which suited him just fine — they didn't get in the way of his ability to fight. They continued taking the wounds on his hands, and the circular bruises around his limbs from sparring with Kino — hopefully he wasn't inhibiting them _too_ much.

By the time he had been with the Nura Clan for over a century, he realized with a bit of surprise that his soulmate was probably another yōkai. That... might have explained a few things, actually.

Something he'd noticed since his death and subsequent return to sort-of life was that yōkai seemed to have a sort of strange honor code regarding soulmates. They could be from completely opposing Yakkōs, or even deathly enemies, but it was still an unspoken rule that yōkai soulmates would support each other from afar by taking turns bearing the wounds of their separate battles. Kubinashi's would siphon away his wounds while he fought, and he slowly learned to do the same, to sense that strange _hum_ in the pit of his stomach that indicated they were injured and reach out with his subconscious and _tug_. A bruise would bloom on his ribcage, or a cut appear on his cheek, and he'd sigh and reach for the small personal stash of medical supplies — basic salve and bandages and whatnot — that Anzen of the Zen Sect had insisted on everyone in the Nura Clan keep on hand for just this reason.

The end of the twentieth century rolled around, and he marveled at the fact that he had somehow survived for over _three hundred years_ , when there had once been a time when he'd expected to die before _forty_. Rihan found a girl — a human girl, who carried her own soulmate's ashes in a locket around her neck and made the Second _laugh_ like he hadn't laughed in decades upon decades. Wakana married into the Nura Clan within a few years, and just a few years before the beginning of the twenty-first century she gave the clan their long-awaited heir.

If it didn't make him sound like a complete pedophile, Kubinashi would say he fell in love for the second time in his life with little Rikuo. He considered Rihan's small son as good as his own child, and went out of his way to care for and teach the boy when the Second was occupied with clan business. His fingers showed Rikuo how to play cat's cradle and how to write his name in hiragana, and he was the one available to explain to Rikuo why his cuts and scrapes faded away like smoke when his friends' remained.

He was the one who, after Rihan's death, held Rikuo in an embrace and told him quietly that his father was in a peaceful place now, where he was with the one he loved. Kubinashi was the one to explain to the boy how Rihan and Wakana had both lost their soulmates before meeting, and had been each other's soulmates of choice because of that.

And it was Kubinashi who explained how to sense when your soulmate was injured, and then promptly stormed down to the Zen Sect main house with a coughing Rikuo in tow to give the young head a proper shovel talk and then a stern lesson about proper soulmate etiquette. It was a bit of a relief, really. After so many unpleasant endings — Rihan and Yamabuki Otome, Wakana and her dead friend, his own distant soulmate whom he'd likely never meet — Kubinashi found a small bit of comfort that Rikuo had his own other half close by and _there_ for him, even if it meant that coughing blood became a part of his regular routine.

He got to watch the two of them slowly grow up with just as much pride as Rihan might have had, were he still alive to see his son and his son's soulmate _together_ and _happy_. 

When danger began rearing its head yet again as Rikuo reached his age of yōkai maturity and started making his way towards the headship of a clan that had been left to flounder for eight long years, Kubinashi just sighed and tugged yet another bruise from his distant soulmate's forearm, wincing and applying some of the cream Zen now made for all clan members to carry with them. His soulmate pulled away the cuts on his palms and the bruises on his shoulders, but the sluggishly bleeding scrape across the space where his neck would connect to his shoulders remained for weeks after Inugami attempted to bite his head off. It made sense — chances were that his soulmate _probably_ had a proper neck, after all. It did beg the question, though — what _else_ happened to wounds that were on body parts only one half of the pair possessed? Could they simply not transfer, or would they just transfer to the closest possible analogue? That sent a slight shiver down Kubinashi's spine, since he was pretty sure any injuries to that odd space below his head would transfer to the inside of his soulmate's _neck_ , and that wouldn't be good.

He did his best not to be injured there anymore.

After Nurarihyon knocked Rikuo out and sent him to Tōno in a basket, Kubinashi was _furious_. The boy wasn't just his new leader, but also as good as his own son, and no matter how great the danger Rikuo at least deserved an explanation, a friend there with him— but Kubinashi couldn't _say_ anything, because Nurarihyon was still the acting Head and the last thing they needed right now was internal unrest. Zen reassured him that Rikuo was doing fine and showed him the smattering of bruises and small cuts that he was pulling from his soulmate daily, which looked to Kubinashi like training injuries much like the ones he'd been transferring more often now. 

Then Rikuo returned with a new addition to his night parade, and they sailed for Kyōto.

Kubinashi didn't like the Tōno yōkai that had joined them. They held themselves apart from and above the Nura clan, and although some of them were friendly enough (he might almost say he liked the Amanojaku and Numagappa, who declared themselves to be soulmates as though it was an instinctive part of who they are, and grinned and laughed with each other like they always knew what the other was thinking) he got the feeling that they saw his clan as weak. Especially the dark-haired leader, who commented coldly on how _unprepared_ and _untrained_ Rikuo had been, and Kubinashi ground his teeth together at the slight because _that wasn't it at all_.

It was never _his job_ to teach Rikuo how to fight. Not only would he have only been able to impart basic martial arts skills (their fighting styles were far too different for anything past that), but it had never been his role. He had been the guider, the teacher, the one who stepped in to take Rihan's place and help raise the Second's son because Rihan had been his _friend_ , and Rikuo was as good as his own child now. He had never been the one meant to teach the boy the uglier side of their life.

He couldn't resist letting his darker side reappear as they fought, wrapping Fear-enforced threads tight around the brunette's neck and ignoring the tickle in his stomach that said his soulmate was in pain. It was too bad for them — Kubinashi was busy right now. His string was sharp and bit into his palms, and for just a short minute he allowed himself to remember all of the cold-blooded killing intent of the String Assassin of Hitachi Province. It wasn't a side of him he'd wanted Rikuo, or even the other young members of the clan, to see — but this yōkai wasn't one of those he'd sworn to protect, and he'd needed to learn that neither Kubinashi nor the Nura clan were in any way _weaker_ or _lesser_ than Tōno.

They worked together after that, pooling their resources along with the help of Hihi's son Shōei (another young member of the clan who was much too young for this but doing his best anyways, and Kubinashi allowed himself to feel proud of the young man because his father could not) to keep Takarabune from crashing, and his string cut deep grooves into his hands as he held the ship together long enough for them to land without dying. He hissed at the pain, and did his best not to flinch away from the wood chips that flew in their faces and made sharp nicks in their skin as the brunette — Itaku, he'd said his name was — slashed the trees around them into a net to slow their descent. 

The tickle was still there after the fight with Tsuchigumo, though Kubinashi was relatively sure he'd been sending some pretty strong _'hello I'm injured'_ waves as well by then. Gyūki took Rikuo and Zen away, up to the mountains to train, and Kejōrō clapped her hands and started organizing the rest of the clan into action. He didn't care — he left with his head in a fog, and soon found that the only thing that made sense through the haze was doing what he does _best_ — killing yōkai. He thought at some point his soulmate tried to pull away the sluggishly bleeding cuts on his hands, but Kubinashi _yanked_ them back the moment they started to vanish because the pain kept his head as clear as it would ever be. A few cuts and nicks, like the ones he got from the wood chips earlier, came with them.

He didn't care. _It didn't matter._

* * *

Kubinashi's not sure how long it takes him to realize just who's been taking his injuries for the past three centuries, but when he does it's with a sigh of exasperation, because _really_? How could he have been this _blind_?

It's the hands that do it — he sees Itaku's hands, the first time he joins one of their sparring sessions after the final battle against the Nue, and his body recognizes the faded scars there before his mind does. Thin lines, pale against the Tōno yōkai's deep tan, cutting across his palms and the sides of his hands, crisscrossing over the defined bones that cast angular shadows along the backs when his arm guards aren't concealing them. They're the _exact scars_ Kubinashi has on his own hands, from those early years before he'd learned how to control his fear and didn't care how injured he got if it meant one more yōkai would die (strange, how far he's come from _there_ ). The Kamaitachi has his scars, and as his mind whirls around and around he remembers the paper-thin cuts and the bruises on his limbs, and it makes all too much sense. Paper-thin cuts that could've been caused by the wind, how could he have been this oblivious?

His first reaction, since they're still in the middle of sparring, is to fling thread (not strong enough to _cut_ , just strong enough to _hold_ ) around his opponent's limbs and immobilize him, because he's waited three hundred fucking years, and he's not going to wait a minute more to say something about this. Itaku turns to look at him with an irate gaze, amber eyes _blazing_ in irritation at the spar being stopped so abruptly, and Rikuo takes the moment to glance between the two of them thoughtfully.

His eyes flicker with understanding and he grins, winking boldly and flashing them a thumbs-up before calling casually that he's done sparring, and going to go spend some quality time with his soulmate now. Kubinashi's not sure he's imagining the innuendo there, since Rikuo tends to be a good deal more daring in this form than during the day. Regardless, that's not something he particularly wants to imagine about the boy — _young man_ , he can't really be called a boy now — he practically helped raise.

But Rikuo's taken the initiative and left them alone, so now it's just Kubinashi and Itaku in the training room as the door quietly slides shut.

For what feels like hours (but is really just perhaps a minute or so), they stare at each other, flashing amber and sapphire blue driving into each other as though they might be able to force one another to act with the sheer pressure. Kubinashi doesn't know what he's going to do next, because what do you say to a situation like this? Itaku had to have known, the injuries his string made weren't exactly _common_ , so why hadn't he said anything? It made sense to keep quiet while they'd been fighting, but — but there had been six _months_ of peace after Kyōto, and it's been nearly that many since the battle against the Nue, so there's no reason he couldn't have brought it up during that time.

Itaku hisses quietly, and with a start Kubinashi realizes he's been pulling the strings tighter and tighter around his companion's — his _soulmate's_ — limbs while lost in thought. He withdraws them quickly, red coils unwinding and whipping across the space between them to curl around his arms and in his pockets like always. The weight of it is comforting, a spot of normalcy in a situation that is very much not normal at all.

It's just for a moment, but for a fleeting second Kubinashi can't look at the older yōkai, flashing back with the force of a tsunami to his short human life. To the feeling of having no connection, of watching his hands and waiting to see something fade away, some sign that he wasn't really all alone. (He's had years to think about it, and it hurts but he's realized that he couldn't have loved Madam Shiragiku, not fully. They simply wouldn't have fit together well enough to last, and he'd just been denying the inevitable when he idly wondered if he was hers).

Itaku's voice is slightly rough when he speaks, the low sound echoing in the empty room. "Well? What is it?"

And just like that, Kubinashi ricochets back into the present moment and his present body, and the words fall from his tongue before he has time to rein them in and _think_ about them (another spillover from his past). "Why didn't you tell me?" He's not trying to focus his gaze on anything in particular, but he notices Itaku stiffen and sees that amber gaze flicker to his hands and back. "After everything was over. You knew, didn't you? So why didn't you tell me, Itaku?"

"I didn't want to."

Kubinashi blinks. Blinks again. Pauses. "What? You—"

"At first, I was disappointed." The kamaitachi begins walking, slow and almost predatory, across the room to where he's standing. "Someone like you, who would rather keep Rikuo safe than teach him how to protect himself, who put on a mask of kindness and pretended to be someone you're not. I didn't want to be tied to someone like that."

His mouth feels a little dry. "But you still transferred my injuries."

"That's how it is with our kind." Itaku pauses, inhales softly, and looks down at the thin silvery scars on his palms. "Even if I wanted nothing to do with you, we were connected for a reason. It would be... _disrespectful,_ to cut off a soulmate just because of a simple conflict." His eyes are hard when he glances up at Kubinashi, then just a bit lower at the hands that hang limply at the neckless yōkai's sides. "I will not stoop to the Shikoku Heir's level."

Huh. Well, Kubinashi had certainly wondered about that, but... "So it would have been against your moral code. That's— that makes sense." And he's not hurt, not at all. It lines up with everything he's learned about yōkai since becoming one, with his three centuries and then some of knowledge on the topic. It makes sense.

" _Hmph._ " Suddenly, Itaku's crossed the rest of the distance between them and is standing right in front of him, nose nearly touching Kubinashi's. He hadn't realized it before, but with his head at a normal level like this, they're almost eye-to-eye. The kamaitachi's gaze is burning, and Kubinashi feels a strange urge to turn away from the intensity that Itaku manages to wear like a second skin. "It was, in the beginning. Now, it is different."

There's the dry mouth again. Funny enough, it's never felt weird to swallow, even though he doesn't technically have a throat (Kubinashi doesn't even want to try pondering through how in the world he eats and breathes, because quite frankly yōkai bodies make very little sense. Kino can animate her hair and _attack people with it_ , Gyūki's heir sprouts _giant claws_ , he's just accepted by now that their kind defies pretty much _all basic logic_ ). "Different how?"

"If you were to find out," Itaku's eyes are narrowed, bare slits of darkened amber under lowered lids that _flash_ dangerously at him, "I wouldn't have an excuse not to do _this._ "

The rough, chapped lips that capture his hungrily, insistent and devouring, are a bit of a surprise. He'd been uninvolved most of his life, after all, and Madam Shiragiku... woe betide he who would leave a mark on an Oiran of her prestige if he wasn't a paying customer. Now, granted, he's not entirely certain because three and a half centuries is a fairly _long_ time (he's mostly used to it by now, but every so often the small flicker of who he was as a human reminds him that it's _strange_ , to live that long), but Kubinashi's pretty sure this is the first time he's been kissed like this — with intent, with desire. Actually, it might be the first time he's been kissed at all. 

He's too stunned to react with much more than a sharp inhale, too distracted by the way Itaku's hands (hands that carry _his scars_ , that belong to his _soulmate_ ) tug and tangle in his hair, and the way each point of contact between them feels as though it's on fire. They pull apart for a moment to breathe, which gives Kubinashi just enough time to actually comprehend what's happening and isn't this different from everything he's ever expected? After all, his knowledge of soulmates has been Rihan and Otome, Rikuo and Zen — those who found each other early and had been established as fixtures at each other's sides, nothing like— like _this_. Like the centuries of _waiting_ they've both done.

Itaku leans in again, and this time Kubinashi's aware enough to do his best to reciprocate, hesitantly threading his fingers through the messy hair at the base of Itaku's neck as they try to fit their lips together properly. It doesn't really work all that well — Itaku's a little too _insistent_ , and Kubinashi's a little too _cautious_ , and their noses knock against each other as they attempt to figure out what they're doing. After a few moments, they have to separate again, and Kubinashi can't help but laugh — he does his best to restrain it, but the chuckles bubble up his throat and spill from his lips, and he covers his mouth with one hand (he's got to be the color of a ripe tomato, now, because this is all a mess and he's probably made it worse but at the same time this is the lightest he's felt in almost a decade).

"Well." His companion's voice sounds uncharacteristically tentative, and when he glances up he sees reddened lips and a faint flush and averted eyes, and the hands that bear his scars are hidden under crossed arms. "That's why." He shifts as though he's about to turn and leave.

That wouldn't work. Three hundred some-odd years, Kubinashi's been waiting for this, and when he takes a moment to think about it what does it _matter_ if they started on the wrong foot? Or that it had taken so long to find each other? This was still the person who pulled away his wounds and let Kubinashi pull his, the person who willingly took on injuries that incapacitated his fighting style (he's _seen_ how much Itaku uses his hands, and knows how inconvenient the wounds from his string must have been) and fought Kubinashi because he'd perceived a failure in his raising of Rikuo (and now, after the fact, Kubinashi can admit that it probably _was_ a failure on his part, and that he _respects_ Itaku for calling him on it). This person had silently been supporting him for so many years, so why did Itaku think he should leave now?

That just wouldn't do. "Hey. What are you doing?" _Why are you turning away from me?_

"Hn?" Itaku glances up with narrowed eyes. "I'm leaving, clearly."

"Why?" The kamaitachi doesn't look like he has an answer, and Kubinashi's mouth feels dry again. He swallows and wets his lips, not missing the way those amber eyes flicker down to follow the motion before returning to meet his own. "Do you think we're finished?" It's a strange feeling, wanting. Kubinashi's not sure of the last thing he wanted — not for _himself_ , at least. He's wanted happiness and peace for Rikuo and Rihan, he's wanted success for the Nura clan, he's wanted safety for Kino and revenge for his dead friends, but for himself? The last time he _wanted_ something for himself was three and a half centuries ago, when he climbed in through the wrong window and saw a beautiful woman who made him forget how to breathe. "Do you think I _want_ you to leave?"

A sharp pause, and Itaku averts his gaze with a stony, neutral expression. "I don't see why you wouldn't."

"Well, I don't see why I _would_!" Ah, that might have been too direct. He opens his mouth to try again, to explain why they didn't need to just leave it here and forget it all, but words have never really been his specialty. It's not like he's ever been the sort to use fancy talk or proper language — he was born into poverty, and lived his life as a thief, assassin, and subordinate. Kubinashi's language has always been that of his touch, not his voice. His touch, his hands that steal, kill, and serve — not hands that love. He allows his eyes to fall to them now, seeing the silvery scars they both share and wondering if he really has the _right_ to ask Itaku to stay.

He hears a quiet sigh in front of him, and tanned hands reach forward to twine their fingers with his own, matching scars brushing together. "I can't promise I'll be any good at— this. Whatever it is."

Somehow, he manages to laugh in response. "Well, neither can I, and yet here we are."

This time, when Itaku kisses him, it's soft. Funny, in a way, because soft isn't something he thought either of them were capable of in any true sense and yet there it was. A decision in the language they both speak best, to give it a try even though they were never made for this sort of thing. The world moulded them hard in order to survive, and survive they did — for more than three hundred years, they survived on their strength and their wits. And now, they could decide for themselves — could decide to _try_ , even though softness was a concept foreign to their lives, for something new. Kubinashi finds himself smiling against his soulmate's lips.

Trying doesn't sound too bad.

* * *

_"Finally! I thought they might take another damn century to figure it out!"_

_Sitting with his back to the wall beside the sliding doors through which his soulmate is currently peering, Zen chuckles and taps his knuckles against Rikuo's leg. "Oi, you're gonna get yourself killed eavesdropping like that, dumbass. I can't exactly heal you from death, you know."_

_"Kubinashi and Itaku wouldn't kill me. Maim, maybe, but not kill — they like me too much for that." Rikuo slides the crack between the doors shut and moves over to sit next to Zen, making a line of contact between their sides and leaning his head back against his soulmate's shoulder as Zen drapes one arm behind his neck. "So, who do you think needs to get it together next?"_

_The older yōkai rolls his eyes. "What makes you think this is going to be a recurring thing, huh?"_

_"Oh, fate, of course." Deadpan expression cracking back into a smile, Rikuo raises a single eyebrow thoughtfully and taps his lips with one finger. "Saori and Maki already know, and I don't think Kiyotsugu or Kana need help... come on, Zen, give me some ideas here!"_

_A fond snort. "Oi, don't look at me. This is your crazy plan, Rikuo."_

_"Yeah, yeah."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> un-beta'd and finished like just tonight. I'm tired but kinda pleased with this — the narrative is a little weird and both these characters are tough to write for me, but I did my best.


	3. art break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the art chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna drop all art here for now.
> 
> So... raindrops28 and I may have had a conversation in the comments of chapter 2 that lead to this...

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably add more to this AU, since I really like it, but for now this is all.
> 
> Established soulmates in this universe:
> 
> \- Rikuo & Zen (???)  
> \- Wakana & OC friend (platonic)  
> \- Rihan & Otome (romantic)  
> \- Nurarihyon & Yōhime (romantic)  
> \- Saori & Natsumi (???)  
> \- Kubinashi & Itaku (romantic)  
> \- Mamiru & Ryūji (???)  
> \- Awashima & Amezō (platonic)  
> \- Tamazuki & Inugami (???)
> 
> If you want to suggest others, have at it! :3 I have plans for Kana, Yura, possibly Kiyotsugu, possibly Tsurara, and possibly Shōei that are yet to be introduced.


End file.
